And The Clock Starts Now
by Rayniekinnz
Summary: 'Cluedo Game Challenge' Collection & Misc. Comps/Challenges. AU. Character Death/Minor Gore. Suggestion 5: 'Fenrir Greyback lives a simple life - mostly.' Suggestion 6: 'Twisted Fairytales: Little Red Riding Hood.' Suggestion 7: 'Galatea wished there was a door in her portrait.' Suggestion 8: 'Lucius is a talented liar.'
1. Suggestion 1: Snake Eyes

**Suggestion 1: Snake Eyes**

His footsteps echoed through the empty halls; sharp, quiet slaps along the stones, cane clacking rhythmically at his side. His hair, pulled back loosely with a simple ribbon, fluttered silently behind him. His shadow strode confidently along the walls beside him, all long limbs and flickering robes. A door creaked somewhere in the distance.

He paused, cocking his head to the side and listening. His hair slid forward like water, shadowing his face – and the dangerous glimmer in his eyes. "Two halls left," he whispered to no-one in particular, though his shadow nodded eagerly. "A faulty roll. Snake-eyes."

He turned sharply on his heel after a long moment of simply listening, pleasure creeping along his face in the form of a small grimace-like smile. His shadow followed like a fervent child, its long legs allowing a sharp dash that helped it to quickly overtake him, rounding the nearing corner with a swift glide. The portraits watched as best as they could, every bit of them frozen into their original depiction – all except for the eyes. Their eyes followed him like pendulums: watching; waiting until the inevitable end.

It pleased him to know they could see no hope.

The castle had not changed much since his school days, allowing him a smooth path as he followed fading memories. One step, two steps; he faced the Library doors, fond memories blossoming. He had had his first kiss in there; right beside a large, ornate window, the smell of aged leather and dust in the air.

He flicked his cane, the top sliding free easily. The doors opened with a low moan.

It was dim, the air cool, but he entered without a worry in his mind. His shadow met him excitedly, slipping along the dull faces of the bookshelves and glinting from desktops.

"How… eloquent, this feeling of nostalgia," he said aloud, voice carrying powerfully across the wide, packed room. He didn't elaborate, knowing what he spoke of meant nothing to anyone other than himself.

A sound, so soft and fragile, whispered along his consciousness. His shadow darted across the Ancient Runes section, waving impatiently for him to follow, which he did, but not without an indulgent little sigh and shake of his blond head.

His target, his prey, was waiting so perfectly for him, huddled on the floor in a wheezing lump of shimmering cloth. A sneer tugged at his mouth, chin jerking upwards so he was looking down his nose at the pathetic creature.

"Have you no more fight, Headmaster?" he crooned, stepping forward smoothly as the other gasped out, stomping harshly on the withered hand that reached fruitlessly for the wand not inches away from his body. Dumbledore wheezed in pain and his lips quirked up into a brittle smile. "You rested too long; you can't find the strength to rise. Your wand-arm is broken, the other useless. I quite like this sight, I must admit. You, finally in your place, like the filthy half-blood you are."

Dumbledore gurgled something, something that would have struck anger in him, he was sure, if it were understandable. But he remained oblivious – blissfully oblivious. He twisted his heel sharply, enjoying the _crunch_ and howl that immediately followed. While a part of him was disappointed he had only gotten to the man when he was half-dead already, the poison working furiously through his body, the others parts didn't particularly care.

He was a man of opportunity, after all, and their duel beforehand had been enough of an appetizer.

He shook his wand free, ready to end it all with a well-placed curse, preferably one from his father's cherished collection, when something from the corner of his eye caught his attention.

A candlestick, made of twisted silver, cupping a flickering candle. He watched it with an almost childlike curiosity, wand lowering as another, more brilliant idea took root in his mind. His shadow skipped excitedly to the bookshelf it was mounted on, grip-less fingers running over it enviously.

"Yes," he said soothingly, ignoring the grunt that arose as he stepped away, towards the bookshelf. He could hear Dumbledore scrabbling behind him, perhaps for his wand, but it was useless. He couldn't grip it, never-mind grit his teeth long enough for an enchantment. Slowly, shyly, he ran his fingertips over the cool silver.

_Yes, that would do nicely._

He gripped the candlestick, bringing it down and resisting a soft shiver as the warmth of the flame spread across his cheek and nose. He turned back to face the Headmaster, tutting disappointedly and swiping the useless wand away with a quick spell of his own. Striding forward, he brought his foot back and flung it into the man's side with a dull, though no less satisfying, _thump_.

Dumbledore curled in on himself and he tipped the candlestick, watching intently as searing wax splashed down across a visible wrinkled cheek, eliciting a sharp hiss.

He sighed and tilted his head to the side. "How disappointing – as amusing as it would be, to torture you properly, I only have so much time. But now, I have a dilemma. Shall I kill you quickly, but painfully, or shall I… set you alight?"

He had always loved fire – it was a strange, beautiful thing… the way it curled and twisted, the way it could be pleasantly warm or absolutely deadly. He was quite taken with the way it took over a being too, though their screams weren't nearly as amusing. Tilting his head, he considered what to do.

_Pleasure or practicality?_

He sighed, looking down and sneering. The old fool was mumbling to himself, shaking like a leaf as his limbs twitched at random intervals. The poison was getting to him – no matter what, he wouldn't provide the right kind of entertainment. He shook his head, more than a little disappointed. He didn't like the screams, yes, but a silencing charm would take care of that easily.

In the end, it was a sharp blow to the head that finally ended Albus Dumbledore's incessant life. He detested such a _muggle_ attack, sneering as he examined the bloody end of the candlestick, so artless and blunt, but he knew it was probably for the best that he didn't use his wand anyway, even if it was only a spare. He was about to cast a cleaning charm, thinking he should finish up and be on his way, when he noticed something curious.

The flame was still alight.

"Tenacious," he whispered to himself, absently noticing his shadow jumping around from the corner of his eye. "A sign, perhaps?" He added humorously, watching the flame intently before glancing down at the distasteful corpse of his Master's enemy. He looked up just in time to see the flame flicker, once, twice.

Excitement welled up in his chest and he did the first thing that came to his mind: he dropped the candlestick.

The fire that immediately broke out was gorgeous.

It clattered to the ground, the flame, a magical one it seemed, still going strong, He watched, wide-eyed, mouth parting slowly, as it immediately latched onto cloth and hair, diving and crawling like a newly-born beast. Flesh sizzled on contact and he rocked back on his heels, breathing in deeply. Smoke filled his lungs, the firelight dancing across his face.

If anyone had seen him then, they would have sworn he had never looked so happy before.

Smoke coiling out from his nose and from parted lips, like that of an expensive cigar, he watched his victim burn and crack and crackle with morbid curiosity.

"Hm," he closed his eyes briefly, a smirk curling at his mouth. "Order of the Phoenix – fitting. Yes, fitting indeed."

Lucius watched the flames for a long time after, entranced, until they had completely burned out and nothing but an indiscernible blob was left. He turned on his heel and left.

**Finis. **

* * *

><p><strong>ClueCluedo Game Challenge! **

**Suspect**: Lucius Malfoy

**Weapon**: Candlestick

**Location**: Library


	2. Suggestion 2: From The Frying Pan

**Suggestion 2: From the Frying Pan into the Fire**

A sneer tugged at his mouth, hand shifting on his cane as he heard her echoing footsteps – foolish woman, wearing those chunky heels – approach his back. She was angry, it was obvious, her wand out and ready to fling curses. None deadly, he already knew. She was better than that, she probably thought. _Presumptuous_ _mudblood_.

The halls were otherwise silent around them, the portraits still as they watched the interaction. It was a weekday, but passed curfew so all the children were in bed, no prefects on duty near their location that evening. The Library was just to their left, if Lucius wasn't mistaken. He could see the large doors and the usual Suit of Armour standing guard outside from the corner of his eye, sword planted firmly into the floor between its stone feet. _Hmm…_

"What are you doing here?" Lily Potter demanded, voice crisp and cold, though it shook a little towards the end.

_She's intimidated by me_, Lucius thought humorously. _As she should be. She doesn't stand a chance._

Lucius knew what was coming – he looked forward to it, really. Of course he had heard the rumours, little whispered tales of a woman spinning out of control. The _tragic_ death of her husband and the disappearance of her child – who could blame her? She had survived a run-in with the Dark Lord Voldemort only to lose herself in the aftermath.

According to his son, those days she hung around the school, posing as an academic adviser or helping Pomfrey in the infirmary, brewing potions and being a right nuisance.

It was no secret, the hatred she held for the Slytherin students.

He turned on his heel, twisting his expression into one of mock-surprise. He took a short moment to examine their surroundings, making sure they were truly alone before speaking, flicking his eyes to meet hers.

"Why, Mrs. Potter, I have an appointment. I did not realise I was required to ask your permission."

Her eyes flared and she lurched forward, wand-tip sparking – not unlike that of an adolescent's during a rage. "You don't belong here!" She hissed, wand twisting as if she were about to curse him. "_Your kind_ isn't welcome here!"

"Oh, and if this isn't an amusing change of events," Lucius laughed, ripping his own wand free in one slick movement, stabbing it just below her chin lest she come any closer and _touch_ him. Potter froze, eyes narrowing and throat bobbing where his wand pointed. Leaning forward, he whispered, "You are mistaken. It is _you_ who doesn't belong here, my dear. You and your filthy muggle blood."

"I am as much a witch as your whore of a wife!" Potter cried, ducking out from under his gaze and flinging her wand-arm forwards, a curse on her lips.

Lucius dodged it easily enough, almost disappointed when he recognised the simple disarming spell. He shot one of his own, enjoying her surprise immensely when she realised it was _her_ wand he was dangling in the distance between them.

"My 'whore of a wife' would never have let her wand be taken," he said, smirk stretching across his mouth as he flicked his wrist, having effectively distracted her. She lunged forward, quicker than he anticipated, but it was too late.

She had barely made it to him when it caught up with her, stone sword piercing through her chest without a sound. Her face contorted in shock and agony, but he didn't have to look at it for much longer as two large hands crushed her skull in.

A sweet rush of satisfaction squeezed his chest; he didn't know how long he had dreamed about finally ending the stupid mudblood's life. His Lord would undoubtedly be pleased too – another of the silly little Order taken out – though the, eh, _unnecessarily_ violent end might get him a few _Crucios_. On-the-job assassinations were supposed to be quick and neat, even unplanned ones; blood and bones were for when they had time to play.

Lucius sighed to himself, pitching her wand at her lifeless, distorted body.

"Such a shame," he murmured sardonically, watching a drop of blood the same shade of her hideous red hair curl around the remainder of her jaw, disappearing beneath the collar of her muggle-style blouse. The Suit of Armour dropped her corpse and stepped back into its original place, empty helmet staring forwards.

Lucius turned and continued on his way, heading up towards the Headmaster's office. He had other business to attend to.

**Finis. **

* * *

><p><strong>Back From The Dead Challenge<strong>: Lily Evans Potter

**English Idioms Challenge**: 1. "Such a shame"

**Clue/Cluedo Game Challenge! **

**Suspect**: Lucius Malfoy

**Weapon**: Suit of Armour

**Location**: Library


	3. Suggestion 3: In The Doghouse

**Suggestion 3: In the Doghouse **

**1997**

He watched the quivering man before him with unabashed amusement, a crystal tumbler dangling from his fingers. He leaned forward, raising an eyebrow and pursing his lips to keep from smirking when Karkaroff flinched.

"Now, now," he said soothingly, bringing the tumbler to his mouth as if to take a sip, pressing the cool rim to his lower lip before dropping his hand again, resting it on his knee.

Karkaroff watched him with wide, unfocused eyes, right hand twitching uncontrollably where it rested in his lap. His wand was held loosely between the seizing digits, the wood chipped in some places.

He swallowed convulsively every minute or so, as if he was parched. Dry, cracked lips parted and he started to pant audibly, the quickened breaths turning into outright hyperventilation when he glanced down for whatever reason, only to find filmy brown eyes staring right back up at him.

Lucius glanced at the girl too, top lip curling up at the mess she had made on the carpet. Her screams hadn't been particularly satisfying either, though Karkaroff's begging had more than made up for that.

"_The t-tracker on my w-wand, they will find me! Please, please, they will take me back to Azkaban!" _

"Malfoy…"

Lucius sighed irritably, eyes flickering to the door. Avery stood there, arms crossed and eyebrow hiked up just below his thinning hairline, an ugly scowl twisting at his mouth.

"What?" Lucius demanded. "Can you not see we are having a conversation over here?"

Avery slowly turned to look at Karkaroff, then the bloodied corpse at his feet. His other eyebrow joined the first. "Bloody hell," he muttered gruffly, turning back to Lucius. "You're one sick bastard, you know that, Malfoy?"

A haughty sniff was his only response. Avery shrugged broadly and jerked his head towards the shadowed hall, having stepped further into the room. "The others are waiting. Mulciber is having a chat with ol' Mrs. Black."

"Oh?"

"She flagged him down, wailing some nonsense about knowing Order secrets."

Lucius sat forward, interested. "Is she telling the truth? Were they foolish enough to keep her portrait up when they had meetings?"

"Maybe, I dunno yet. She's been going on about Black – Regulus that is – for the last ten minutes and we haven't been able to get a word in edge-wise. Well, that and how glad she is we managed to take over this place. Mulciber wants you to come down and talk some sense into her."

"Walburga Black? Sense? I think not," Lucius murmured. "You can't have your cake and eat it too."

Avery looked at him as if he had gone mad. "…what?"

Lucius fought not to roll his eyes at the other's confusion, standing and setting his glass down; smoothing his robes as an after-thought. "Have someone come up to guard this floor while I am gone. And find Dolohov – the girl is starting to smell."

Avery grunted and left, calling out loudly for one of the rookies to get their arse upstairs. Lucius followed at a more sedate pace, patting Karkaroff on the shoulder in a faux-friendly gesture on his way out. He saw the man reach forward out of the corner of his eye, then heard the sound of swishing liquid and a greedy gulp.

He stood just outside the door, waiting a good two minutes before he heard a dull thump and the clattering of a chair. He flicked his wrist, studying the small bottle that immediately fell free of his sleeve.

_Hmm. And it didn't even take the whole dose…_

**Finis**.

* * *

><p><strong>10 Characters, 10 Prompts Challenge<strong>: [Character] Avery, [Prompt] Maybe

**Back From The Dead**: Igor Karkaroff

**English Idioms Challenge**: 5. "Can't have it both ways"

**Clue/Cluedo Game Challenge! **

**Suspect**: Lucius Malfoy

**Weapon**: Poison

**Location**: Grimmauld Place


	4. Suggestion 4: Stained

**Suggestion 4: Stained**

"We'll have to wait until the moon sets," Lucius murmured, more to himself than the others. He cleaned off a crate and perched on the edge, having quickly tired of standing around. They wouldn't be getting out anytime soon, anyway.

Snape and the others stood at their allocated points around the greenhouse, watching and waiting in tense silence.

Lucius crossed his legs irritably, about to do the same with his arms when his fingers slid through something wet and cold. He just managed to hold back a disgusted wince, quickly pulling his right hand back and towards his face, examining his fingers in the dim light of the greenhouse. _What…was that?_

It was white, and definitely sticky. His mind flitted immediately to the different options and none looked good. He closed his eyes, swallowing delicately to control his gag reflex. _Oh, Father warned me about this…But for Hogwarts! Who knew I would have to experience this so late in my – still gloriously youthful – life? Blast my beautiful hair and dashing good-looks! Of course my handsome features would make me a target!_

He quickly pulled the front of his robes out, searching for the stain that no doubt tarnished his lovely outfit for that day. He found it within seconds, eyes zeroing in on the inch by inch _splodge_. He frowned, lower lip jutting out as he peered at the stain.

"Malfoy, we need to – what are you doing?"

"There's a spot on my robes!" Lucius proclaimed, standing and pulling the material taught so everyone else could see – it was ruined anyway! Then, in a bout of brilliance, "Someone lick it and tell me what it is!"

Silence.

Snape stared at him blankly, while the others looked to each other hurriedly, unsure if he was being serious or not.

"_Excuse me_," Lucius said, offended, "but I just gave an _order_. Somebody come over here and find out what it is that has been spilled on my gorgeous robes! Unless you already know, hm? Who DARED come near me with questionable liquids?!"

"Malfoy—!"

"LICK IT!"

"Of for the love of—Carrow, get over there and bloody lick his robes!"

"What?! I'm not—!"

"Oi, Snape!" Avery suddenly hissed, hurrying over and peering out the nearest [unblocked] window. He made to move for his wand, then paused and pushed away from the glass, eyes tracking something outside closely. "They're back!"

"Good!" Lucius cried, truly irritated now. "Kick Carrow out! And whoever else doesn't want to follow my orders can become Werewolf chow too!"

He was quite happy to note he now had four willing testers, each practically _begging_ to lick the mysterious stain when Carrow's screams split the air, followed quickly by excited yips and howls, flesh tearing audibly.

No-one noticed Dolohov in the background, quickly inching away from a potted Mandrake. If anyone had been watching him five minutes earlier, they would have seen him quickly tossing his vanilla cone over his shoulder.

Oh, if Lucius only knew.

**Finis**.

* * *

><p><strong>My<strong>** Boring Life Competition! **Lucius finds a stain on his robes

**10 Characters, 10 Prompts Competition**: [Character] Severus Snape, [Prompt] Kick

**Clue/Cluedo Game Challenge! **

**Suspect**: Severus Snape

**Weapon**: Werewolf

**Location**: Greenhouses


	5. Suggestion 5: On These Old Country Roads

**Suggestion 5: On These Old Country Roads**

**1979**

He finished rolling his cigarette and put it between his lips, flicking the top of his Zippo and cupping the flame so the faulty little bitch didn't spark out before he could get a light.

He breathed in deeply, watching the mid-afternoon sun disappear behind some clouds that had been rolling in since that morning. It had been a slow day, and hot as all hell, leaving him in a terrible mood. He hadn't gotten any work done either, too pissed to take the bikes out to work in the shade since his workstation was like the inside of a volcano. He figured he would just wait until it got dark – at least that way he could put some music on and enjoy the moon, even if it was still muggy and disgusting.

He turned his nose to the wind suddenly, catching a whiff of something – tasty. Yes, _very_ tasty. He straightened and dropped his cig, crushing it under the heel of his boot.

Looks like he would be staying open longer than normal, that evening.

* * *

><p>"The bike is toast, Sirius," Remus insisted, glancing up and down the muggle road they had had to improvise a landing on. He sighed, crossing his arms when it was apparent he was being ignored.<p>

Sirius was stubbornly tinkering around what he assumed was the engine, kneeling on the dusty road, jacket folded wonkily at his side. He had spelled his hair to stay off his face, having quickly gotten irritated at having to brush away the sticky locks every few minutes. The sun was beating down on them, despite it being nearly five in the evening.

"Sirius—!"

"I can fix it!" he whined, pausing to look up and glare childishly at his partner. "It just needs a little bit of love, alright!" As if to prove himself, he stood and threw his leg over the seat, threw Remus a smug look, and rammed his foot down on the lever.

The bike gave a long rev, puffed a cloud of black smoke and promptly died with a mocking burble.

"…my baby," Sirius whispered brokenly, even as Remus frantically dispelled the smoke from his face and dragged him away from the smoking motorcycle. He struggled however, breaking away and rushing back to the bike, throwing his arms around the front wheel and handlebars. "Noo, Marlene! You can't die on me now!"

"Marlene?" Remus asked in disbelief.

"Yes, Marlene!" Sirius scoffed, sniffling. "I'll have you know it's a lovely name for a motorcycle! Yes it is, yes it is, huh, _Marlene_?"

"Oh, for the love of—did you inhale some of those fumes or something?"

"What is that supposed to mean?!"

A rough chuckle interrupted whatever Remus might have come up with as a retort. They froze for a split-second before quickly turning around, spotting the stranger just as he said: "You boys need some assistance?"

He was old, older than them, with greying hair, a thick, powerful build and a coarse beard that seemed to be an extension of his copious amount of chest hair. He was wearing a stained off-white undershirt and filthy overalls that tied around his waist, the ratty legs tucked into heavy leather boots.

They said nothing at first, glancing at each other quickly, before Remus jerked his chin in some kind of signal and Sirius stood, brushing off his trousers.

"Er, hullo," he said, pasting on a winning smile. "You been there long?"

The stranger shrugged, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and quickly lighting it, tilting his chin back and peering at them over the tip of his nose as smoke slithered from his nostrils and parted lips. "Couple minutes. Heard ya talking and thought I'd come investigate – don't get many strangers around here, see."

"Right," Remus said, clearing his throat somewhat. He felt incredibly uncomfortable, fear coiling tight around his heart. _What…?_

"The thing is, our motorcycle broke down," Sirius offered after a moment. "I don't really know what the problem is, since it was working just fine when we left…" He very cleverly left out the part about them flying all the way from Grimmauld Place. He had a bad feeling…and of course no muggle would even understand the significance, nor take the fact that they had _flown_ well.

"Ain't that convenient," the muggle said, amused. "The name's Fren. I own a repair shop a little ways back. I could take a look – for a price, of course."

Sirius and Remus both breathed a quiet sigh of relief – no wonder they were getting such bad vibes; the guy probably planned on ripping them off or trying to steal whatever they had on them, bike included. But money was no object, especially if he actually knew two shits about mechanics. Sirius had already converted a pretty pile of Galleons for their trip and could always get more.

"Yeah, that would actually help us out, mate," Sirius grinned, ignoring the still somewhat uneasy look Remus shot him.

"Follow me, then," Fren said, turning on his heel and shoving his hands in his pockets. "It's a ten minute walk."

They hesitated a short moment, sharing one last look before Sirius grabbed his things and starting pushing the bike after the muggle, Remus matching him stride-by-stride, though not nearly as confidently.

They never saw the large, unsettling snarl of a grin that spread across _Fren's_ face.

* * *

><p>Fenrir Greyback licked his lips and sucked his teeth, getting the little bits of flesh that had gotten stuck there; absently patting his stomach when his hands were somewhat cleaned-off. That Lupin had been as sweet as he remembered…his little boyfriend wasn't too bad, either. He was rather pleased.<p>

They had put up quite a fight, much to his delight. He had managed to snap their wands early on, but that didn't stop them – in fact, it spurred them on even more. That Pureblood, the Auror-wannabe, he was definitely the most amusing. It was too bad his blood was so overridden with that disgusting Black magic – if it wasn't for that bitter aftertaste, it would have made a lovely wine.

He was still buzzing with adrenaline nearly an hour after it all ended.

What were the odds of him stumbling across two feisty magic-folk? Not bloody likely, see. He hadn't had one for a few years at least, the last being a middle-aged witch who had been trying to teach her niece Side-Along Apparition. Unfortunately the girl had gotten away and he had had to move shops again, but her flesh had been worth it. Magic-folk were much more fulfilling than plain old muggles or other Creatures.

And look at that, he had gotten a pretty little Triumph Bonneville T120 too. All-in-all, a very productive day, even if he hadn't managed to finish off his last orders for that old goat in town.

Glancing at the remains of his meal, he couldn't help reaching across and swiping some blood from Lupin's shredded chest, licking his hand clean with a low contented growl.

He thought he could have eaten more, there was plenty left of the Pureblood, but with the Full Moon the next night he didn't want to spoil his appetite. He'd put the left-overs in the fridge with the rest of last week's surprisingly lovely whore – hopefully he would have space to spare.

There was a particularly handsome young man in the next village he wanted to pay a visit to…

**Finis**.

* * *

><p><strong>Let's Dig Holes Competition! <strong>Level One: B2 – A villain reimagined as a cynical mechanic.

**Clue/Cluedo Game Challenge! **

**Suspect**: Remus Lupin

**Weapon**: Werewolf

**Location**: Grimmauld Place


	6. Suggestion 6: With A Hood Stained Like

**Suggestion 6: With A Hood Stained Like Red **

She walked the hallowed halls, humming to herself quietly. The brats were all in bed; her duties lifted for the night. It was _her_ time now.

One…two…three. Alecto smiled to herself, lips skinning back from her teeth. The door shimmered and slid open, calling for her to step inside and lose herself in the dark, hunched, sprawling forest.

There was a soft crunch as her boot tread on decayed leaves, a crack for the other. She felt coolness settle around her shoulders, creeping over and beneath and into her hair. It was like silk against her bare skin, shadowing her face. It smelt like _him_.

A basket appeared at her side, sitting innocently upon a bed of wilted flowers.

"Perfect," she whispered, voice grating in the eerie silence. A wolf howled in the distance and a grin split her cheeks.

She lifted the crimson cover off the basket, eyes flickering shut as she breathed in deeply, the scent of blood immediately assaulting her taste-buds. She didn't care much for the taste, but _he_ did.

She dropped to her knees, bones creaking. The basket fell, but the contents didn't spill. She righted it and rid the twisted wood of the cover completely, tossing it aside and uncaring of where it landed. She dipped her finger-tips inside, dragging them through the congealed blood before bringing her hand up to the light, examining it interestedly. Then, she brought it to her mouth.

She dragged her index finger over her lips, rubbing them together to blend it in before using the rest as a perfume of sorts, dabbing it on the insides of her wrists and behind her ears.

There was a snuffling to her left and she stood, throwing the basket over her arm and striding towards the darkest part of the forest. A growl, a hiss, a whimper. The trees groaned and creaked as she passed, some diving towards her and others attempting to scurry away. She didn't bat an eyelid, an amused, oily sort of smirk glued to her stained lips as she watched.

They didn't _dare_ harm her; not when _he_ was following.

The paths widened and thinned the longer she walked, her ears pricking with every sound that echoed her way. Grunts, laughter, screams. A shadow suddenly stepped out on her left and she took off running, screeching laughter following as her silken green hood spread out behind her like wings.

"You're too slow!" she taunted as they came to the end of the trail, spinning sharply on her heel and leaning back against a gnarled tree-trunk.

He lunged at her, jaws snapping, but she was already gone. She appeared on the other side of the forest, wand quickly slipping back into her bodice as she walked. She could see them already, eyes widening with delight. She slowed to a stop at the edge of the clearing, thighs squeezing together as excitement and arousal flared within her body. Her heart skipped a beat, sweat prickling along her skin.

One, two, three, four – five. There were five of them, all hung up like slaughtered lambs, one or two even missing their heads! She laughed with pure glee, recognising that old oaf Hagrid and even Gibbon, even though he had died during the tussle at the Astronomy Tower. She had never liked him – it warmed her heart to see him hanging there, limbs shredded and nearly unrecognisable.

Clawed hands suddenly ripped into her shoulders and she half-yelled, half-groaned; laughing breathlessly when she was pulled taut against a hard, towering body. A cold nose was buried in her neck, a coarse tongue lapping at the drying blood there before jagged teeth dragged along her shoulder.

She let it happen, knowing she was perfectly safe. Blood seeped from the wounds on her shoulders but she barely noticed, only really feeling the way her hood got heavier as it absorbed what leaked out. She was more interested in the erection pressing into her back; the large, callused hands that grabbed her breasts.

"You're late," Fenrir growled into her ear, teeth worrying the cartilage seconds later. His left hand unclasped her breast and slid lower, feeling along her bodice and threatening to rip it off. "I almost started without you."

"I see that," Alecto scolded, before turning her head to smirk up at the bodies. "What a lovely set-up…"

"Hm, for you," Fenrir grunted. "You better be fucking grateful, Bitch."

"Oh, believe me, I am. Why don't you turn around and I can show you just how much…"

* * *

><p>He and the bodies faded as dawn hit the forest and Alecto got dressed. Her hood was completely ruined, blood-stained and ripped and worn, but she dragged it over her shoulders anyway.<p>

She Apparated back to the entrance, too sore to bother walking the trails – pleasantly sore, she would happily admit to anyone.

She walked the hallowed halls, humming to herself quietly; the door disappearing behind her as she already started thinking of when she could return.

It was a shame the real thing would take a little more convincing. She would catch him, eventually…

Her Big Bad Wolf.

**Finis**.

* * *

><p><strong>The Romance Survival Competition! <strong>Round 2 – Write about Fenrir Greyback/Alecto Carrow

**Clue/Cluedo Game Challenge! **

**Suspect**: Hagrid

**Weapon**: Werewolf

**Location**: Astronomy Tower


	7. Chapter 7: Of Old Eyes

**Suggestion 7: Of Old Eyes**

Galatea feigned sleep, listening as a screaming girl was dragged into her old classroom. Unfortunately for her, this was a regular occurrence at Hogwarts, those days. Ever since those awful Death Eaters invaded.

Her portrait faced the desks, giving her a perfect view of that evening's – _lesson_, if she cracked her eyes.

She didn't.

That didn't mean she couldn't hear perfectly, however.

"Silly little Mudblood!" a woman – Lestrange – cooed; heels clacking on the tiles as she burst into the Defence classroom. Galatea had only ever gotten a glimpse of her, too afraid to look at her directly, but what she had seen had been enough. She wished, not for the first time, that there was a door in her portrait. At least she could leave, then.

The Mudblood cried out something incoherent, voice muffled by a strange _wetness_, but whatever she said must have been defiant for Lestrange made an angry noise, a hissed spell quickly following. The girl screeched in pain.

Galatea hadn't known a portrait's skin could crawl until she heard Lestrange's laughter.

"There, there, don't strain your voice! That mutt Fenrir loves to hear you scream when he rips into you," Lestrange said happily, and the girl screamed in fear. There was a resounding _slap_ and the girl was abruptly cut off, stunned into silence.

"Scared of werewolves, are you?" Lestrange whispered, and Galatea could just picture her leaning in, hissing into the petrified girl's ear. "That's just too bad. They love fear – it turns them on, gets their blood pumping. Imagine all the fun they could have with you…if only I could watch…"

Galatea repressed a shudder and her eyes popped open as a _thump_ sounded out. The girl had fallen – or had been pushed – off of the desk she had been pinned to, body lying in a bloodied heap on the floor. A hand flew to her mouth and Galatea swallowed a sob, unable to stifle her horror.

The girl, unrecognisable at that point, leading Galatea to think the actual torture had happened elsewhere, looked as if she had been hit by one of the trucks her great-grandson had been obsessed with when she was still alive. Half of her brown hair was missing, the entire right side of her face crushed. Lestrange sneered, lifting her leg, skirts swaying, and brought down her heel with a sickening _crack_.

The girl screamed herself hoarse, blood spurting from the already wounded area as Lestrange danced away, tapping her wand to her chin thoughtfully before suddenly grabbing her forearm and grinning hugely.

"Oh, My Lord calls for me!" she sang, pausing in her cheer to sneer and kick the Mudblood once more. "Stay here, you!" she ordered. "I want to have more fun with you when I return!"

But the girl was dead, and they could both see it. Lestrange idly fixed her hair and smoothed down her skirts, humming as she made her way to the door.

She turned abruptly, facing Galatea full-on.

"You didn't see anything," she said sweetly, before leaving with a little skip to her step.

Galatea was still nodding frantically long after she had gone.

**Of Old Eyes/End**

* * *

><p><strong>-10 Characters, 10 Prompts Challenge! <strong>[Character] Galatea Merrythought, [Prompt] Truck

**-Clue/Cluedo Game Challenge! **

**Suspect**: Bellatrix Black

**Weapon**: Werewolf

**Location**: [DADA/Any] Classroom


End file.
